He was but three quarters of a league from Clermont but Charny was only two hundred paces away.
Drouet knew Varennes was not a posting station and he surmised that the King would have to go through Verdun. He began to despair; before he caught up with the King he would be seized. He would have to give up the pursuit or turn to fight his pursuer and he was unarmed.
Suddenly, when Charny was not fifty paces from him, he met postillions returning with the unharnessed horses. Drouet recognized them as those who had ridden the royal horses.
"They took the Verdun Road, eh?" he called out as he forged past them.
"No, the Varennes Road," they shouted.
He roared with delight. He was saved and the King lost!
Instead of the long way he had a short cut to make. He knew all about Argonne Woods into which he flung himself: by cutting through, he would gain a quarter of an hour over the King, besides being shielded by the darkness under the trees.
Charny, who knew the ground almost as well as the young man, understood that he would escape him and he howled with rage.
"Stop, stop!" he shouted out to Drouet, as he at the same time urged his horse also on the short level separating the road from the woods.
But Drouet took good care not to reply: he bent down on his horse's neck, inciting him with whip and spur and voice. All he wanted was to reach the thicket—he would be safe there.